The System Turned Football's Worst Prospect Into a Monster.

Chapter 101: Volume 2, Chapter 101: No Longer the Extra Winger

Coastal heat pressed against the team bus as it slowed outside the Lagos hotel. Duarte Faria rose first, slung his plain club duffel over one shoulder and walked towards the entrance. Behind him, Salvador Almeida unclipped his seatbelt, pulled a folded piece of paper from his side pocket, and checked the afternoon schedule against his watch.

Rayan stayed seated three seconds longer. He had read the schedule twice already, but his thumb still traced their names beneath the secondary group. The times were printed in bold: 15:30 – Equipment & Room Allocation. 16:15 – Physical Screening. 18:00 – Squad Induction. He folded the paper carefully, pushed it deep into his pocket, and stood up.

Inside the lower foyer, an assistant kit manager stood behind long steel racks hung with navy-and-green training gear. Rayan waited in line behind two senior squad members, watching as they picked up pre-sorted bags tagged with official squad numbers.

The employee didn’t look up from his clipboard. "El Mansouri?"

"Yes," Rayan said.

The man reached down, pulled an unlabelled navy gear bag from beneath the table, and set it on the surface. Inside were four sets of unnumbered training kit, two pairs of plain grey socks, and a black mesh laundry sack tagged with a yellow plastic strip reading ACADEMY-03.

"Academy allocation goes to the second floor, rooms 204 to 210," the kit manager said.

Rayan took the plain bag. He zipped it shut quickly, hoisted it over his left shoulder. He shoved both hands into his shorts pockets and walked briskly.

At quarter past four, the secondary conference room was set up with portable treatment tables, force plates, and digital jump mats.

Victor Gyoker stood on the force plate, his boots removed, performing counter-movement jumps. Gyoker wiped his neck with a towel, his shirt pulled tight across shoulders built for senior contact.

Rayan stepped onto the mat next. At fifteen, his frame was narrow, his shoulders sharp beneath the plain training shirt, and his calves lean. When he executed his vertical hop, the technician tapped the screen twice.

"Good lower-body responsiveness," the technician murmured. "Peak power on the left leg is high for his age."

Rayan tried to keep his posture rigid during the upper-body stability test, but when the automated bar applied isometric resistance against his chest, his torso trembled slightly. He was around 175 centimetres, but against senior standards, the bar made the difference between him and the older players obvious. To the staff, he was another set of baseline numbers to track through the preseason block.

By six o’clock, the entire squad had gathered in the main tactical room. A few players were still scrolling through their phones, while others leaned back in their seats, exchanging quiet jokes.

Rayan pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time. Beside him, Duarte was already sitting upright, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes fixed on the blank whiteboard at the front.

At the head of the table, Sebastian Coatez didn’t shout. He picked up his water bottle, set it down with a single sharp tap against the wood, and looked slowly around the room.

"Schedule started," Coatez said simply.

Phones disappeared. Rayan shoved his phone beneath his thigh half a second late, catching Duarte’s eyes flick towards him before returning to the front.

Rui Amorim stood up, holding a thin black folder.

"Seven-thirty breakfast. Eight-fifteen pitch arrival. Lunch at one, tactical meeting at five, dinner at seven-thirty," Rui said, his voice clipped and even. "Recovery after every double session is mandatory. If something feels tight, report it before you step onto the grass."

He paused, his eyes sweeping across the rows until they rested on Duarte, Salvador, and Rayan.

"To the academy group," Rui continued. "You are here to be tested. The senior squad has work to do, and you will either raise the quality of our sessions or you will be sent back to Alcochete early. Understood?"

"Yes, boss," Salvador said clearly. Rayan nodded sharply. Rui Amorim turned back to the main board and brought up the shape for Sunday morning’s role session.

The dining hall opened at seven-thirty that evening. Rayan filled his plate with grilled chicken, rice, and steamed vegetables, then stood near the edge of the buffet line.

Pedro Gonsalves sat near the end of an adjacent table, picking casually at his salad. He looked up, catching Rayan standing still with his tray balanced in both hands.

"You always stare at the chairs before you sit down?" Pedro asked, his tone bone-dry.

Rayan shifted his weight. "I was just looking."

Pedro pointed a fork towards the empty space beside Salvador, three seats down. "Then see the empty one and drop the tray before your chicken gets cold."

Rayan walked over and pulled out the chair. Salvador was already eating, a small notebook laid flat beside his plate with the next morning’s schedule written out in neat block letters.

Rayan quietly locked his phone and set it face down beside his napkin.

Back in room 206 after dinner, Rayan sat on the edge of his bed and called home.

The screen flickered, showing Sofia sitting at the kitchen table with her glasses on, while Karim leaned over her shoulder from behind his chair. Leonor was visible in the background, leaning against the counter with a pencil behind her ear.

"Rayan!" Karim grinned, his voice booming through the phone speaker. "How is the hotel? Did you see the main pitches yet? Have they told you which shirt number you’re getting for the friendly?"

"It’s just training kit, Dad," Rayan said softly. "We had screening today. Pitch work starts tomorrow."

"Did they give you the camp emergency number?" Sofia asked, tapping her pen against the notepad. "What time do you report tomorrow, when are meals, and when are you coming back?"

"I report at eight-fifteen, meals are seven-thirty, one and seven-thirty, and they haven’t confirmed the final bus yet. I’ll send it when they do," Rayan answered.

After hanging up, the quiet of the room returned. Rayan lay back on the mattress, staring at the white ceiling.

A translucent, smoked-black window materialised silently in his central vision.

[MISSION CHAIN: FORCE THE DOOR OPEN — ACTIVE]

[Goal Contributions: 2/5]

[Explosive Exit: Novice 32% → Target: Basic]

[High-Tempo Actions: 0/10]

[Senior Pressing Sequences: 0/4]

[Multi-Goal Performance: 0/1]

[Current Status: Evaluation Phase.]